Moving On
by Stephensmat
Summary: Many changes have taken place in the last two stories. Now our heroes have to move on. Some things you can help with, other things you have to handle on your own.


Making Do

A _Shadow_/_Spiderman_ Short Story By Stephensmat and Scarlet

"So how is he?" Peter demanded.

"Why are you asking me?" Sarah asked him as she hit the button on the elevator.

"Every time he hears my voice on the other end of the line he hangs up on me!"

Sarah laughed.

Peter snorted derisively. "Yeah, go ahead and laugh, but how is he?"

Sarah concentrated slightly. It was easier to see him as he was only two rooms away. "He's got that look on his face like he's thinking of ways to kill himself," she reported, then shut her cell phone.

Scene Break 

Stephen Cranston had exactly that look as he sat at the head of the long table in Cranston Industries' boardroom. "Real Estate?"

The second man on his left answered. "Many deals in transit were threatened. Most of the buyers wanted to make sure we could still reach demand with our portfolio falling. It's not rebounding as fast as we'd like."

Stephen nodded. "Agriculture?"

The third from his left answered. "The same. With the death of your uncle, the areas where we held extensive stocks fell. The real problem is that the market needs to be sure of you."

"Wall Street needs to be sure I can do this job as well as Victor," Stephen said, only half to himself.

"Fortunately, times have changed since the last time this company was handed down a generation."

Stephen's face twitched just a little at the blatancy. The man who had spoken was named Sam Bailey. His uncle's notes had described him as a man who could be trusted, and who had no time for niceties. "How so?" Stephen asked.

"New York's major players have been completely reshuffled over the last five years. OsCorp, Fisk Enterprises, Quest Aerospace…the market's ripe for the taking."

Stephen couldn't help but grin at the fact that as The Shadow, he had basically eliminated his main rivals before taking the job. "Suggestions on how to maintain profit margins?" Stephen asked aloud.

"By selling off our holdings in the Pacific, and refusing sales for the next three days, we can keep the quarterly average up near last quarter's numbers."

There was a heavy silence. Bailey was giving him a hard look.

"No," Stephen said.

A collective let out of breath. Bailey was looking at him like a proud father.

"If we sell," Stephen continued, "it looks like we're scared of the market prices. If we look weak, everybody's going to think we are weak. Find me some deals that should have been started a week ago. I want the paperwork for them on my desk by the end of the day. Get the word out to whoever it is you talk to and tell them that we're not the least bit worried."

The board actually burst into light applause.

Stephen grinned. "And whoever arranged this little test, thank you."

A few glanced over at Bailey.

"Thank you, gentlemen, good day," Stephen said by way of dismissal.

Bailey stayed behind as the others filed out. "They were right, you know," he said.

Stephen played with a coaster, pretending to be more aloof than dark and shadowy. "About making sure I can do this?"

Bailey nodded. "The shareholders, the markets, they're fine just so long as the money keeps rolling in, but the board members are they ones you'll have to face. Old Money, society families and superior elitists, every one of them. And to them, you're a reporter that got thrown out of every private school in New York before the age of twelve. You're your uncle's nephew, and he was his father's son, but the board members still aren't sure about you. That's why I suggested we throw you a test. It wasn't to prove to the markets that you were in charge, it was to prove to the board that you were in charge."

Stephen smiled. "Did I pass?"

"Yep."

"Good."

Bailey led the way out of the boardroom…

…where Stephen spotted Sarah waiting on him. "Would you excuse me?" he said to Bailey.

Bailey gave a nod and walked away.

Stephen turned to Sarah. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," Sarah reported. "Show me around?"

Stephen sighed, and gestured around. "This is the hallway, that way's my office, this is the boardroom, get in here."

The next thing she knew, he'd pulled her into the boardroom and shut the door. "Stop looking over my shoulder."

"Well, it's not exactly over your shoulder," she said coyly.

Stephen raised a hand to cut her off. "Wherever it is your mind's eye focuses, tell it to stop looking there."

She found herself staring out the window of the boardroom. "Yeah, you're right. I think I'd rather stare at the view _you've_ got. Wow."

Stephen found himself amused at Sarah's reaction in spite of himself. "Looks a lot different from this height, doesn't it?"

Just then, Spiderman flew past the window on the end of a webline.

"Aargh!" Stephen groaned. "That's the ninth time today!" He glared out the window. "**_Stop looking over my shoulder!_**" he mentally called to his partner. "**_Don't you have anything better to do?_**"

Spiderman took another swoop by the window and gave Stephen a mocking salute as he swung by.

"**_I'm not joking,_**" The Shadow's voice warned, and Stephen turned back to Sarah. "That goes for you, too, young lady. And tell Peter, MJ, and Moe to stop nagging you to peek in on me. I know when you're looking."

She snorted. "You lie. You're the least receptive person in Manhattan."

"Yes, but you're not that hard to miss."

Now she was offended. "What, are you saying I'm not good enough to keep you from detecting me?"

"I'm merely saying subtlety is not your specialty. Now, friendly conversation's done, and it's time for you to go."

"Look, you're being a little ridiculous. We've given you your space, but now we're worried about you. Moe especially…you've taken the limo everywhere you've gone for the past two months."

"It's…necessary. I'm trying to figure out where I fit in to all of…" He gestured around the room impatiently. "…this."

"We just want to know what's going on in your head, and I drew the short straw." Sarah shrugged. "Great view, by the way."

"Where, from my office or behind my eyes?"

"If you'd actually _let_ anyone behind your eyes, I could tell you the difference."

"Like that's going to happen any time soon." He gave a sigh and refilled his coffee cup from the carafes on the mahogany table. "I'm not coming back. I'm…not ready yet."

"I figured. But you should at least be kept informed."

"Informed about what?"

"Well, first off, Marsh is mobilizing the entire Classic Newsroom."

Stephen froze. "Mobilizing them to do what?"

"Find out who killed Victor."

The anger that flared in Stephen's eyes was frightening. "Not if I can help it."

Scene Break 

The _Classic_ newsroom was bustling with activity. Though Sarah had only been there a few times, her first visit had left an impression. She scanned the cubicles briefly. It was as busy as ever, but attention seemed to be focused on about six different points. It seemed that everybody was working on something as one.

Stephen and Sarah knew what that was.

Stephen picked a straight line from the elevator to Marsh's office and was marching.

Half a dozen people came over with everything from offers of support to offers of sympathy. Stephen didn't even register them. Some of them stepped in front of him, and he just walked through them like a linebacker, never making eye contact as he fixed his gaze on Marsh's door.

A half-minute later, he threw the door open and glared at the two people in the room standing at Marsh's desk. "Out," Stephen told them.

Everyone looked over at Marsh.

"Go," Marsh told them.

The room cleared, and Stephen closed the door.

Marsh steeled himself. "I didn't get a chance to touch base with you at the funeral. I'm so sorry…"

"Drop the investigation," Stephen interrupted.

"What? Why?"

"Because I just told you to. Drop it now."

"What is she doing here?" he demanded, pointing at Sarah.

"Don't ask. Marsh, I am telling you, do _not_ get involved. You _really_ do not want to know why."

Marsh had heard that before, and it always annoyed him. "Stephen, I don't pretend to understand how your brain works, but look: A billionaire businessman and pillar of the community has been murdered. The only family of one of my strongest allies is dead, and the police closed the investigation after only three days, giving it the most cursory glance and truly the most pathetic excuse for suspect I have ever seen released without a record being kept. If the police won't make an effort to find justice, I _will_!"

"No, you won't. Drop it. Don't do this, don't even try. Do not get involved. Get the picture?"

Marsh was looking at him guardedly. "What would I be getting involved with?"

Stephen gave only a moment of hesitation, then swept everything on Marsh's desk onto the floor, and was leaning over the desk like a cobra about to strike. He didn't raise his voice, but it was still absolutely lethal. "Marsh, let me put this as simply as I can. I am sick and tired of people dying because they won't listen to me. So if you want to get killed today, go for a walk through the Bronx at night, but don't get involved in _this_. Got it?"

Marsh looked at Sarah. "Out."

Sarah gave Stephen a questioning look.

Stephen nodded his assent.

Sarah left the room.

Marsh waited for a moment, then finally spoke. "Stephen, there's obviously more to this than I know. But your uncle has been murdered, and I know it's eating you up inside. You don't want to involve other people in this, that's fine. But don't treat me like I'm other people. Don't treat me like I'm an idiot. And don't treat me like I don't know you have other connections. You're not going to just take this and pretend it didn't happen."

Stephen thought long and hard about his answer. "No. No I'm not."

"You already know who did it," Marsh pressed. "And whoever he is, you aren't interested in me, or the authorities or anybody getting to him but you."

Stephen frowned. "What I'm interested in is no one else dying because they decided to tangle with this. Trust me, Marsh, unless you're just into death and destruction for kicks, in which case I can recommend about a thousand different outlets for your desires, you do _not_ want to be involved with this."

"Have you brought your friends in on this?"

Stephen didn't answer.

And in Stephen's non-answer, Marsh got his answer. "This is connected to him, isn't it? I knew it. Come on, Stephen, let's not play games here. You just inherited every dime of the Cranston billions, and you were a trust fund baby before that, but you came to work here, and I'm no longer naïve enough to think it's just because you like the smell of newsprint. It's because you work for The Shadow."

"The Shadow is a myth," Stephen snapped reflexively.

"Your uncle's money, your information's sources. That's what this was over. And that's why the cops aren't looking. It's because The Shadow doesn't want them to."

"It's a favour," Stephen said dismissively.

"You actually let people do you favors. I'd have never guessed. You've never taken a handout in your life."

Stephen laughed sarcastically. "Don't you know? Rich folks have everything handed to us on a silver platter. Everyone owes us favors. We control the world."

"Even the mythology." Marsh got serious. "I want to help."

"I want you to keep out of it. I want to keep everybody out of it."

"You know, Stephen, you may take me for a sap, but don't kid a kidder. I've been involved in bad stuff. _Really_ bad stuff. People who should be in jail? I've put them there. Cops can't prove anything? I get them proof. I stopped most of it when I took a desk job, but don't treat me like a fool, and don't treat me like I don't have eyes. This guy, whoever he is, he murdered a good man. A lot of people owe that man."

Stephen gave a terse nod.

"Whatever you're planning, I want a seat at the table."

Stephen let out a breath. "I'll have to clear this with a few people."

"Do so."

"No guarantees."

"Never are."

"Drop the hunt."

Marsh nodded his assent. "For now."

Scene Break 

"You think he'll take your advice?" Sarah asked him.

"I don't care."

"Of course you care," Sarah snapped. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"What was the second thing?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'well, first off' back when we started this little escapade. That usually implies there is a 'secondly'."

"Oh right! I have a source. Justice Department has been working on something for the last two weeks. They're setting something up. Closed door meetings, consultations with Local PD, the whole thing."

Stephen's eyes finally seemed to focus on her. "Setting up what?"

"I don't know. My source isn't on the inside."

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"You're not going to run it down yourself?"

Stephen's cell phone beeped, and he checked the display, reading the reminder from his secretary that he was needed back at the office. "I'm busy." And without another word, he simply walked away from her and got into the limousine that had ferried them to their destination at the _Classic_.

Sarah sighed and flagged down a cab.

Scene Break 

Spiderman was swinging his way through Manhattan, high above it all. The route he took was just circular enough to keep as much distance covered as he could. He and Stephen had gone over the skyline and devised patterns to cover as much distance as efficiently as possible back when they'd been working together.

And now he was working alone.

Stephen would be back. He had to be back. It had to happen.

He was shaken from his thoughts by a tingle from his spider-sense. Looking around quickly, Spiderman released his webline and landed against the face of a building. He quickly focused on what had set him off.

It was a quartet of small machines, no bigger than a basketball. They were vaguely circular in shape, with tapered edges, and what looked like telephoto lenses sticking out the front.

More curious than alarmed, Spiderman watched as they actually flew past with a low whine. "Why are you setting off my danger sense?" he wondered aloud.

As one, the quartet flew in a tight circle and hurtled straight at him.

"Spoke too soon!" Spiderman yelped and flipped backwards up the side of the building.

The nearest seeker turned sideways in time to avoid impacting the wall. The following trio had more time to react and climbed ninety degrees, following viciously.

Spiderman flipped and somersaulted up the wall as though it was level ground, coming to a spectacular landing on the edge of the roof, always keeping ahead of the seeking robots.

One ducked lower than its intended target and smashed into the wall just below Spiderman, whose spider-sense was suddenly howling to move. Spiderman did so ungracefully, just in time to avoid an explosion much more powerful than it should have been.

"Ack!" he yelped. "Kamikazi toys!"

The second had turned wide, trying to drive him toward its kin, only to find that Spiderman was more than willing to meet him halfway, firing a web into its lens, and swinging it like a ball and chain into one of its brothers.

"Hope you boys are recyclable!" he shouted at the last one as he led it on a chase through the city.

Scene Break 

"He's remarkable!" marvelled a voice as it watched the feed. "The speed! The agility!"

"That is none of your concern," gravelled a curt voice. "Finish this."

The older man tapped some buttons as the seeker followed the spider into an alley between two buildings, only to discover that its quarry had vanished. It panned left, then right, then up, to find Spiderman swinging a trash can at it. The image suddenly went to static.

"I expect the Black Widow will perform better than this test?" the gravel-voiced observer noted.

"Yes, sir!" the older man promised.

"Good."

Scene Break 

Spiderman barely had time to look at the wrecked craft before his spider-sense told him to run.

A nanosecond later, the seeker exploded behind him.

Peter sighed beneath his mask. "Great! Now I've got Toys-R-Us rejects to worry about too. Wonder where they came from. Who'd have the resources for something like them?"

He considered calling Stephen, but already knew where that would lead.

It was about then that his spider-sense told him to look down. He looked and saw a woman being dragged into an alley by a mugger.

Spiderman swooped down and landed lightly on the wall above the pair. "Y'know," he said to the mugger, "I don't think she's wearing your shade of lipstick, but even given that, there's gotta be an easier way to get new makeup."

The crook looked up instantly and was immediately terrified.

That was when it happened. It was a feeling that Spiderman was familiar with. His grip on the wall was slipping.

"Help me!" gasped the old woman.

The mugger was glancing back and forth between the masked man and the street, starting to freak out.

Spiderman was already past freak-out on the scale of confusion. His grip hadn't vanished, but it was _definitely_ weakening. It wasn't like the last time, but he was sliding imperceptivity down the wall. Deciding not to push his luck, he dropped to the ground and did his best to look menacing.

Meanwhile the crook had apparently made his choice, and drew a butterfly knife.

Spidey moved into a combat crouch and became more nervous still. Something didn't feel right.

A moment later, his normally agile and flexible muscles started trembling. Then he felt his balance falling off, and his spider-sense going silent. He was in trouble and he knew it.

Striking first, he fired his webshooters. He missed the first two shots, and nailed the knife hand with the third.

The crook moved forward first and started swinging, landing twin blows to the mask.

Spiderman grunted and was pushed back, against the wall.

The fight continued a little longer. Spiderman was losing. Trying to get out, he attempted one of his trademark flips, and landed flat on his back.

His opponent moved in for the kill, when there was a crackling noise, and he dropped like a stone.

Spidey looked up and saw the old woman standing over him with a sparking tazer. "Thanks for the help," she cracked wise.

Spidey resisted the temptation to say the same to her. "Any time."

Scene Break 

"Is this a joke?" Stephen demanded tightly. "If it is a joke, it's both funny and well executed, but I think we both know that this isn't a joke."

"It's no joke, sir." Bailey said honestly. "The Justice Department agreed to it in exchange for information, we don't know what kind. He's back. We heard about it from CNN of all places."

"Show me."

Bailey turned on the TV that Stephen had in his office, and the first thing he saw was the insufferable smirk of Wilson Fisk.

Scene Break 

Spencer Smythe was an aging man with silver hair and grey eyes that belied his intelligence. He was staring up at the viewscreen, which was, at the moment, tuned to CNN.

"I had been receiving numerous death threats against myself and my family," Fisk was saying. "I had evidence, though hardly conclusive, that the source of those threats came from my competitors." That smirk again. "With the recent death of Victor Cranston, and Harry Osborn leaving the country with the bankruptcy of OsCorp, among other developments on Wall Street, I felt that it was now safe to show myself again."

"There are numerous rumors that you made a deal with the Justice Department, Mr. Fisk," a nameless voice from the reporter pool called out. "Any comment on that?"

"I am bound by law to reveal nothing about the policies and procedures of the DoJ," responded Fisk easily. "However, I will say that it takes a great deal of effort to legally bring a man back from the dead. It also takes a lot of effort to effect damage control when you're accused of being a criminal. A man in my position learns a great deal about people, corporations, and so forth. The DoJ was good enough to ease my transition back into New York and even back into Wall Street, in exchange for a few such pieces of information."

Spencer switched the view screen off.

"You know he's evil. Why are you working for him?"

Spencer turned at the sound of the squeaking wheelchair to see his son coming into the room. "Evil is such a charged word, Alistair."

Alistair didn't let the disdain throw him off. "Why him? After OsCorp folded you could have your pick of employers. Why _him_?"

Spencer took measure of his son, and sighed, keying a few commands into the computer. An electronic schematic popped up on the screen, and began rotating. It looked like a cross between a lawn-chair and a plexiglass go-kart. "It's for you. It's a hoverchair. My own design, but impossible to manufacture. Fisk offered me money, and the chance to have it constructed."

Alistair gaped. "What did he want in return?"

"Spiderman."

His son stared up at him.

Scene Break 

Sarah stared at the TV in MJ's new penthouse. MJ was pacing back and forth, the cordless phone practically glued to her hand. Andrew had reported no contact from either Stephen or Peter. Moe had reported no sign of reconstruction at Fisk Tower. Stephen had hung up on her. Peter wasn't answering.

"Why are you calling Peter anyway?" Sarah asked, switching the TV off. "I mean, he lives right across the hall."

"It's not like he's actually going to be _home_ right now," MJ replied with a sigh. "I have to know if he's seen this. If Fisk has shown up, then he might have attacked Spiderman already…"

The phone rang. "Peter?" MJ answered.

"Put Sarah on," an unexpected caller responded.

MJ looked confused. "Did you dial a wrong number or something?"

"Put Sarah on."

MJ handed the phone to Sarah. "You'll never believe who it is."

Sarah took the phone. "Hello?"

"He's buying stock!" Stephen's growl answered.

Sarah nearly dropped the phone. "What?"

"Fisk is buying stock in all the subcompanies Cranston Industries owns. He's buying real estate at OsCorp's bankruptcy sale with money he made buying stock in all our holdings. Stock prices in CI-associated firms dropped when Victor died. They rebounded this morning after I signed a bunch of sales agreements, and Fisk dumped his shares for massive profits. He's made a fortune off _my_ company."

Sarah got over her surprise and laughed. It was good to hear Stephen invested in something other than his own depression lately. "Well, at least you're now accepting that it's 'your company'…"

"_It's not funny!_" Stephen roared. "I can't turn buyers away now without crashing the stock again. The bastard made his comeback from my family's fortune!"

"O.K, that's long enough," MJ declared and snatched the phone out of Sarah's hand. "Stephen, I can't find Peter. Sarah doesn't know where he is, either. Can you send a message…"

"I'm not sending anybody messages. I'm not back."

"Well, I figured with this new development that…"

Stephen hung up on her.

MJ looked at her friend. "He hung up."

"He does that," Sarah remarked.

"Where is Peter?" MJ screamed.

"Coming off the elevator as we speak," Sarah replied. "He's going to be fine. He's hard to kill, and Fisk is being watched by the FBI…"

MJ glared daggers at her friend and opened the door to greet her returned warrior love…

…who looked absolutely horrific. His face had been pummelled into a bruised and bloodied mess.

"Ooh," Sarah winced as she saw him. "Forgot to duck?"

"What happened?" MJ demanded as she quickly helped him inside.

Peter collapsed onto the sofa in exhaustion. He stared at his hands for a moment before speaking. "My powers are gone again."

Silence.

Sarah grabbed the phone out of MJ's hands and dialed Stephen.

MJ looked troubled. "Peter, I thought you were O.K. with where things were now."

"I am," Peter asserted. "This is something…something different." He gathered himself, then got up and went over to the wall. Pressing his fingers against it, he felt his hooks lock into the microscopic pores in the wall, and he quickly climbed to the ceiling, then flipped back to the floor. "Weird."

"They're back?" MJ asked.

"Feels like it." Peter touched his face and felt one of the nicks beginning to heal over. "I don't get it."

"Think it was a one-off thing?" Sarah asked, her ear to her phone, exasperated that their fearless leader wasn't picking up.

"I hope so," Peter groused.

The phone finally clicked an answer. "Cranston Industries--Stephen Cranston's office."

Relief at the sound of that voice in her ear spread across Sarah's face. "Oh, good, your secretary's not intercepting your calls. Listen, there's breaking news from the front. Peter says…"

And then she heard a "click" as the line went dead. Sarah suppressed a curse and turned to the others. "Apparently Stephen has absolute confidence in our ability to hold our own under the current circumstances."

Peter rolled his eyes skyward. "Self-righteous, self-absorbed…"

"All right, can it," Sarah interrupted. "Look, you didn't see him earlier today. He's…well, he's just barely holding it together. He can't come back yet, and you really don't want him back in the state he's in. He knows the only way he can stop himself from getting involved is to make a total and complete break. Everybody he knows is in this room, and all of us want to pull him back in."

"Particularly now," MJ agreed.

"Now?" Peter started. "What about now?"

"Fisk is back."

Peter's face darkened. The bruises and cuts made him look vicious. "You know, sometimes, I wonder if I'm too pessimistic."

MJ gave his shoulder a loving pat. "So what do we do now?"

"We have to get Fisk out of the equation," Sarah said.

"We did that!" MJ snapped. "We did that about a year ago, and he got back into the equation!"

"Why didn't you kill him?"

"We _did_! The son of a bitch came back from the dead!"

Sarah looked at Peter. "What is it about you and supervillains coming back from the dead?"

"Don't start," Peter growled.

The three of them stared tersely at each other, a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion in their gazes.

Peter finally voiced their shared concern first. "Oh, so now you guys actually _want_ the all-knowing, all-controlling Shadow back?"

"It isn't that," MJ said. "It's…well, if your powers are going haywire again, that's not going to help matters."

Sarah nodded. "The DoJ's watching Fisk and it'll take him some time to get his money back. We've got some time."

Peter sighed. "Then maybe I'd better go find some _real_ help."

Scene Break 

"Dr. Connors?"

Curtis Connors looked up from the electron microscope to see Spiderman at the door. He had seen the webslinger before, when his friend Otto Octavius had held his first disastrous fusion experiment. He glanced at the window. It was still sealed shut. "Since when do you use the door?" he remarked.

"Since my powers started cutting out on me."

Connors was stunned into silence. Then the scientist in him started moving. "I assume that outfit has areas to expose skin?"

Spiderman peeled off a glove and pushed the left sleeve of his costume up enough to expose the veins in the crook of his elbow.

Connors quickly fetched a needle, some gauze, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He swabbed the bare skin and took a blood sample. "At least the costume's tight enough to act as a tourniquet. Just from how hard it was to push that needle in just now tells me your skin's probably way too tough to penetrate without something to pop your veins outward. Why did you come to me?"

"Well, you're a professor of physics, but you've been doing a lot of recent research in biophysics and neogenics."

Conners was amused as he spread some of the sample onto a slide. "You read physics journals in your copious spare time?"

"It's a hobby of mine. I'm particularly interested in your studies about the use of physics and radiation therapy to manipulate gene structure."

Connors slid the slide into a small drawer on the microscope and gave it a brief gaze. "And that's what you think this is," he said plainly, using the empty left sleeve of his labcoat to polish off the eyepiece as he looked back at Spiderman. "Your powers aren't natural, are they?"

"No. I won them in a contest. Second prize was a stuffed tarantula."

"Definitely looks like the genes have been spliced together somehow. Neogenics?"

"Radiation experiment. That was the category I chose."

"Amazing."

"Any ideas?"

Connors didn't answer. He was scanning the slide carefully. "Hm-m-m. Well, if I had to guess, I might say that the original mutation is artificial. The genes you got were spliced together in something else before you were exposed to them, and somehow they stuck enough to merge with your existing genome. But only some of them."

"I figured that," Spiderman admitted. "When I first realized what this was, I was terrified I was going to grow four more limbs or something."

"If all these errant DNA strands had fused with your own, you probably would have," Connors nodded grimly. "But it looks like that won't be a problem."

"Oh?"

"The spliced DNA is breaking down. I mean, I'm watching it happen right now, though it's probably happening at a faster rate here than it is inside your body. But even if it's only a fraction of what's happening in your own cells, your powers might just be gone within the week."

Spiderman stared. "Can you reverse it?"

"I don't think so. This is the oddest genetic manipulation I've ever seen. It's behaving like a virus--like it took over your own DNA and started making copies of itself. As the copies spread, the 'symptoms'--your powers--manifested themselves. But eventually, your immune system finally learned to compensate, and now it's beginning to break the virus down."

"And my powers are breaking down with it."

"Right."

_Just what I needed to hear right now,_ Spiderman mused. _Where's a backup superhero when you need one?_

Scene Break 

Stephen was beginning to wonder if it might just be better to chuck the whole "billionaire businessman" persona he'd been trying to adopt over the past two months and go back to being a superhero. It had to be better than signing his name a thousand times over the last two hours…or whatever the real count was. His eyes were blurring and his head hurt as much from the endless paperwork he'd been reading as it was from psychic inactivity. Absently, he dropped the pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, letting his mind start flowing outward to relieve some of the pressure. When he'd first arrived in the office and taken a seat at Victor's desk, Stephen found it somewhat amusing to look at the ceiling and see the cracks from where an obviously frustrated Victor had probably slammed a few random telekinetic bursts during headache-inducing meetings. At times like this, Stephen wondered if he should have the ceiling reinforced with Kevlar…

His intercom buzzed. "You have a visitor, Mr. Cranston."

Stephen stopped the outward flow, and the sudden change in direction of mental energies worsened his already existing headache. He fetched a handful of ibuprofen from a bottle in a desk drawer and downed them with the last of his fourth cup of coffee today. "Send them in, Miss Jeffries," he answered the intercom, then went back to signing papers.

"Mr. Cranston."

Stephen very carefully put down the pen and looked up at the arrogant smirk of Wilson Fisk. "Kingpin," he greeted coolly.

"That's an ugly term," Fisk noted.

"But an accurate one."

"One man's opinion."

"One man who spent six years telling the readership of the _Classic_ what a piece of filth you truly are."

"How ironic that we're now engaged in business together."

"Like rain on your wedding day."

"I hate that song. Mind if I sit?"

Stephen made a show of gesturing to the chair across the desk.

Fisk planted himself in the chair and turned to face the young executive. "First of all, I don't care what you call me. I'm used to disparaging remarks, as all successful businessmen are. I do, however, care when costumed vigilantes try to kill me and blow up my business' central office. I do care when I am forced to flee my country because of rumor and speculation in light of death threats. I do care when my employees are killed, and I especially care when these events are celebrated as justice and victory in local media by grandstanding tabloid writers."

"I never knew you cared so much about my journalistic endeavors."

"I wasn't the only one. Your name came up a number of times in meetings with my own board of directors. My Accounts and Finance Director thought very highly of you."

Stephen's look tightened. "You mean your _late_ Accounts and Financial Director."

"Indeed."

Stephen got his temper under control, annoyed that the mere implication of Diane Burke's name could still get under his skin. "My schedule is rather full today, so if you're just here to trade war stories, we should perhaps continue this discussion at another time."

"No. I'm here to do business. I don't like grudges. Nobody wins; no profit. Bad for business."

"I'm not interested in doing business with you."

"I've read the _Wall Street Journal_. You don't have a choice. Turning away offers right now after your portfolio has done the roller coaster tour of the Eastern Seaboard would not be a smart thing."

He was right about that, which annoyed Stephen all the more. "All right. Where should we start our discussions?"

"I want your holdings in Chile and Istanbul."

Now _there_ was an odd choice. Stephen had to do a quick mental scramble to remember what department had holdings there and why. "Why those particular ones?"

"I need to make my fortune back. I started my business as a spice merchant. It's not like making money in Wall Street off the third world is unprecedented. I have the money."

"Which you made from my own subcompanies."

"That's how the market works. I shouldn't need to explain this sort of thing to a trust-fund baby."

The dig was annoying, but nothing Stephen hadn't heard before. Kingpin usually had better wit than this. Time to pull the Pulitzer-winning skills out of mothballs. "Drink?"

"Thank you."

Stephen crossed the room to a bookcase, flipping down a false front on one of the shelves to reveal a sidebar. He poured two shots of bourbon, then returned to his desk and handed Fisk as glass. "You weren't planning this all along, were you? Or was it sheer coincidence that you decided to make your moves in the wake of the death of the esteemed Victor Cranston?" He started counting off on his fingers. "OsCorp goes bust and Harry Osborn leaves the country. All his real estate, up for grabs. Victor Cranston dies, and a multi-billion dollar portfolio takes a hit. Big shakeups at the DoJ, Homeland Security, etc., leaving a really nasty mess and a lot of bureaucratic stuff and nonsense to be sorted through that can let things slip through the cracks. The timing is perfect for you to come back."

"Shame about your uncle. He was a good man. Hell of a negotiator, too."

Stephen believed him, but acted as if he hadn't said anything. Victor was, after all, the kind of man who'd strike a deal with his worst enemy if it meant he could find out intelligence on how they worked. For that matter, so was Alexander, Stephen's father…which was how the man got himself killed. He tried not to let that thought pattern show in his expression. "You know I can't turn away buyers without everyone asking why."

"And if you tell them it's because I'm supposed to be a criminal, then I will of course have to press charges."

"Giving Cranston Industries another hit in the market."

"It's not personal, it's business."

"I know," Stephen considered. "And yet I suddenly have a bad taste in my mouth."

Kingpin smiled warmly. "Welcome to the grown-ups table." He got to the point. "My offer for your Chilean and Turkish holdings is eight million dollars--U.S., of course. I have a contract with me." He reached into his suit pocket and produced a contract, which he handed to Stephen.

Stephen took a moment to study it. "Those factories are for local grain and soy processing. Growing season's over; they'll be shut down for three months. Unless you're really into agriculture, I'm not sure why you're even interested in these."

Kingpin smiled. "The factory facilities themselves are usable for other production. I have raw materials; I can make a profit refining them. The season makes those properties more affordable than local factories."

"And what would those raw materials be exactly?"

"I don't believe disclosure of that information is included in the fine print."

"Naturally." Stephen fought down the bile and handed the contract back. "Obviously you haven't done your market research. My asking price _starts_ at twelve million."

"Twelve!" Fisk spat. "You _are_ new at this."

Stephen was cool as ice. "If you'd like to negotiate, I'd be happy to entertain ways to offset the cost. Why don't you give me some details of what you'd want the factories for? We'll see if we can reduce the opening costs for you."

Fisk glared at the young man.

Stephen glared back. Glaring was the one part of business negotiations he was _very_ good at.

Fisk grumbled, then looked away and pulled out a checkbook. "You know," he said conversationally, "I locked horns with your uncle on a number of occasions. Every time we did a deal, it always felt like he was screwing me over somehow, and I never could figure out how. Seems you've got the same quality."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Stephen said lightly.

"One thing I'd like to add to the contract," Fisk said. "I want the facilities fully insured. I'm giving you four million dollars; I want you to pay for the insurance. Consider it a warranty. You know, in the event of property damage."

"I'll discuss it with my legal department. That could take a while. Bad news if you want to move fast, but if you're _that_ worried about liability…"

Fisk grumbled. Whoever had taught the kid had taught him very well. Too well. He extended the check in his left hand and offered his right hand as a handshake on the deal.

Stephen took the handshake in his right hand and the check in his left.

Kingpin didn't let go of either right away. He instead slowly turned the check in such a way that the top of Stephen's hand was visible…including his very distinctive fire opal ring.

The two men's gazes met, each looking at the other with an odd mixture of menace and competitive fire.

Fisk finally released the check and Stephen's right hand. "It's going to be a real pleasure doing business with you. You've got a lot of your uncle in you."

Stephen gave a tight smile. "You have _no_ idea."

Scene Break 

"Gone." MJ was stunned. "Just like that?"

Peter nodded. "Just like that. A week at most."

MJ gaped.

Peter tossed his mask into a corner. "So…I guess this is me from now on."

MJ sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.

Scene Break 

"Is the check any good?" Bailey asked, looking over the document Stephen had tossed across the desk at him.

"As if I really care," Stephen groaned. "I've probably got twelve million in pocket change lying around, but that isn't the point. Isn't there anything we can do to shut him down?"

Bailey shook his head. "But I think we've got a bigger problem."

"What now?"

"Those factories were on that 'to-do' list you had the department heads draw up. But…" He fished through the stack of unsigned contracts on Stephen's desk and pulled one out. "…you hadn't yet approved their sale."

Now _that_ was something Stephen hadn't noticed. "Then how did he find out about them?"

"My guess? McKay, Beck, and Tanner. They're the ones who were working this in the weeks before your uncle died."

"Our own people told him?" Stephen exploded.

"They're department heads, so they're fairly autonomous."

"So, what, did they use our letterhead to make this offer to that bastard? And did Victor know about any of this?"

"In answer to the latter, absolutely not; your uncle _despised_ Fisk almost as much as you do. As for the former, though, their departments were the ones hardest hit by the market prices, so…"

"…they wanted to hedge their bets," Stephen snarled. He smacked the intercom button on his phone. "Miss Jeffries!"

Bailey sighed and stood up, heading for the door. "Keep blood off your shirt."

His assistant came in as Bailey went out. "Yes sir?"

"I need McKay, Beck, and Tanner in my office right now."

"Um…actually…" She seemed embarrassed.

Stephen was _so_ not in the mood for any more insubordination. "Something wrong?"

"I…I've worked for your uncle for fifteen years, and now that…I just…I don't feel comfortable here any more."

Stephen's face tightened. "I understand."

"I mean, it's not because…it's just that…"

Stephen didn't need to read the rambling woman's mind to know what the "that" was--it was the fact that he wasn't Victor. Which annoyed him more than anything. "I know."

"Mr. Breckenridge from Personnel has a few candidates for a new Personal Assistant."

"Terrific. As your last duty before you vacate your desk, tell him to get his backside down here or you can't leave."

"Yes, sir."

Scene Break 

A few minutes later, Breckenridge was escorting Stephen to the in-house tech center, home of first-line technical support for the massive computer network that tied most of Cranston Industries' businesses together. The room was full of mostly young men and women, all of whom were manning phones and talking users in need of assistance through their technical issues such as "my printer isn't working" or "I need a new copy of Microsoft Word" or "I can't get this…um…picture file to come up in my web browser."

"You've _got_ to be kidding," Stephen said to Breckenridge.

"No, sir," Breckenridge responded. "This is the modern day equivalent of the old steno pool. This is the ideal area to start evaluating candidates for your new personal assistant."

Stephen stepped away from Breckenridge and took a walk around the room, scanning the faces at the phonebanks. Most of them recognized him instantly and looked away, or immediately buried themselves in their tech calls, or otherwise looked intimidated by him. Normally Stephen would find that a valuable quality, but with the mood he was in now, he didn't need someone easily cowed.

"Listen, mister, you're gonna have to slow down," a sharp feminine voice with a Queens accent said in a tone that rose through the chatter.

Stephen immediately scanned the room for the source of that voice. His eyes followed his ears to a young woman with an 'I-know-everything' look on her face and a tone that reflected it. "Look, mister, I've got three more customers on hold behind you and they don't pay me enough to be too polite. Now slow down and read me that error message on your screen. Don't tell me what you _think_ it says, tell me what it _does_ say."

Stephen pointed at her elaborate spiked hairdo as he turned back to Breckenridge. "That one. What's her name?"

Breckenridge looked nervous, but answered. "Chloe Bryant."

Stephen nodded and went over to her.

"I'm sorry, your babbling has outlived my patience, thank you for calling." Chloe said as she disconnected the call. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around, exasperated. "What?" Then she found herself staring into Stephen Cranston's intense blue-green eyes. "…sir?"

"Chloe Bryant?" Stephen confirmed.

She was trying not to be stuck for words. "Yeah. Stephen Cranston?"

"Yeah." Good, she wasn't easily cowed. "I need you to take a break and do a job for me."

"Sure. What do you need?" she replied, trying not to seem the least bit nervous that her employer had just shown up and was standing right over her.

"That tone of voice on your last call…"

Now she looked defensive. "Yeah? What about it?"

Good, she was tough, too. Stephen smiled coldly. "I need that tone _specifically_."

Scene Break 

Neil Tanner was signing papers in his office when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Neil Tanner?" answered a sharp tone. "This is Chloe from Mr. Cranston's office."

Tanner blanched, knowing what this was likely to be about, but kept his voice level. "Yes?"

"Mr. Cranston wants you in his office at 4 o'clock today."

"That would be extremely difficult," Tanner hedged.

"Try to imagine how little I care about the inconvenience to you," she shot back in a voice that promised a swift and painful death. "Now my job is to get you here, and I was told to do it even if I had to reach through the phone cord and yank you out the receiver. Now be a good little yes-man and get on a plane _right now_, in exchange for which it's possible I _might_ tell Mr. Cranston that you were eager to cooperate, but I wouldn't put money on that."

Tanner gulped. He was in big trouble and he knew it, and that tone of voice did nothing but cement his fear of what was going to happen once he arrived in Cranston's office. "Yes, ma'am."

Scene Break 

Chloe hung up the phone in Stephen's office. "That about what you had in mind?"

"Perfect," Stephen smiled. "Make two more just like that, then do something about your hair."

Chloe ran a hand through the spikes in her hair. "What about it?"

"The first thing to remember in business is to be intimidating, not outlandish. Your call was the first part. The fear has to be fresh when they come in, and it won't be if they see a spike-haired punker. But if they see a pulled-together businesswoman whose appearance matches that tone, that fear will resurface and amplify."

"Oh. Guess you're right."

"Of course I am." Stephen smiled coldly. He opened his wallet and handed her $500. "Once you're finished up here, go next door to the hair salon and have them give you a quick style job, then pick out a business suit and some matching shoes in that little boutique in the same building. It's important to look the part."

She tried not to boggle at the wad of cash he'd pressed into her hand. "O.K. What's next?"

"Next, we need a way to make them off balance, then we make them feel worthless, then we offer them a wonderful way out." He looked out in the waiting area. "Those are nice-looking chairs out there. Plush and comfortable."

"Sure look that way," Chloe agreed.

"Get rid of them and find me some that aren't."

Scene Break 

Two and a half hours later, Tanner entered the waiting room adjacent to Stephen Cranston's private office. A young woman with heavily braided hair was sitting at the secretary's desk, and on the other side of the room, on chairs just a bit too small, looking decidedly uncomfortable, were Herb Beck and William McKay. "Oh, crap." Tanner said to himself.

"Honey," Chloe said, standing up, "you don't know what crap _is_." With that she picked up a manila folder and went into Stephen's office.

Scene Break 

Stephen looked up. "They here?"

"Yep."

"Good." He was impressed by her fashion choices--charcoal suit, loud vibrant print blouse, blood red pumps with sensible height stiletto heels. Exactly how The Shadow's secretary should look. "Let them sit for a minute while we chat. Ratchet up the fear factor a few more notches."

"Sure thing." She looked around, impressed by the old-time executive décor of dark woods, huge bookcases, and massive executive desk. "Nice office, by the way."

"Thanks. My uncle had good taste."

She nodded. "Never actually met him. But he seemed like a really good guy."

"He was." Stephen looked over at her. "Why are you answering phones for a living?" He tapped the file on his desk. "Your record says that you've got the skills for something higher on the food chain."

"Yeah, I know. I tried, but…well, they all tell me I've got an attitude problem. If you've read my file, you already know that most of my employers decided I wasn't worth the effort."

Stephen gave a knowing smile. "I know the feeling. Do you think you're worth the effort?"

She shrugged. "Hard to say. Never really been given much of a chance to find out."

"Well, you're getting one now. Congratulations. That desk out there is yours now."

Chloe seemed taken aback for the first time. "Really?"

"The woman you're replacing was here for years, and she did her job well. If you can do it just as well then I won't give a damn about your attitude. Send them in, please."

Scene Break 

Chloe came out of the office looking shell shocked, and waved them into the office.

Scene Break 

The three men entered the office, looking uneasy. Everyone at Cranston Industries knew about Stephen Cranston--trust-fund baby with the genius IQ, the shelf full of Pulitzers, and zero business experience--but each was starting to get the impression they may have underestimated the man. The fierce look in those intense eyes of his as he watched them approach wasn't helping matters. They each took a seat in yet another set of slightly too small chairs across from his desk.

"Gentlemen," Stephen said in a tight and icy greeting. "Given how long you've been with us, I'm willing to overlook the stupidity of any of you even entertaining the notion of telling a wanted crime lord that he can make money off us, but only once." He picked up a manila folder, then opened it as if reading from it. "You were all in charge of your respective departments once, but they weren't subsidiaries then, they were independent companies. My uncle bought you out, but he didn't fire any of you, and he didn't fire any of your people. In fact, he gave you all substantial pay increases and modernized all your holdings. In exchange for which you do _this_." He smacked the intercom sharply. "Chloe!"

She was at his door a second later. "Yeah?"

He held up the folder and glared. "Who wrote this?"

"I don't know," Chloe responded, not entirely sure how to respond to this part in the play Stephen was creating to scare the idiot executives.

"Whoever it was needs to be fired, because we really shouldn't try inventing words like 'y'know' and other such nonsense. Can you clean this up?"

Chloe nodded and took the folder, flipping it open.

Inside was a computer printout of a story from the New York _Times_.

Now she got it. This was part of the intimidation tactic--that the men in the room were even less important than a typo on a memo. She took a seat at the one comfortable chair left in the room, off to the side of his desk, then pulled a pen out from behind her ear and began making notes on the paper.

Stephen nodded, then turned to the men as if suddenly remembering that they were even still in the room. Chloe was impressed at how small and miniscule they seemed as they seemed to visibly shrink in their chairs at that icy glare.

"Speak now," Stephen directed.

Tanner decided to risk launching the first verbal response. "Sir, with the recent hit at the market, our companies were never the primary money makers for CI, and if things got that bad…"

"Shut up," Stephen snapped coldly.

Tanner shrank back in his chair.

"The market hit was inevitable, but you knew it would rebound." Stephen started pacing the room, never taking his eyes off the three men. "Fisk knew that too, or else he wouldn't need you! In two weeks the numbers come back up, and now you look like idiots. Fisk already has those factories and stocks, the three of you are remembered as fair weather friends that turned on your own at the first hiccup, nobody wants to have you on staff, and you're left looking around the racquetball court wondering where the Hell everybody went." He gave them just long enough to let that sink in. "And when the numbers start to rebound, and I tell the powerbrokers on Wall Street, about the three funny little guys who thought that they knew better, your legacy will be that you blew with the wind and nobody will expend any serious amount of effort trying to keep you close by, because who would want to? And once the work dries up, what with me using every chess game, cigar, and glass of brandy in Wall Street to tell everyone that you three are the Unholy Trinity and all, you'll smile a little less, you'll drink a little more, and maybe the stress will finally cause your wife to finally leave you for those insurance brokers who get paid money for the kind of treachery you'll be fired for, you kids will go with them, and you guys will find fulfilling work helping little old ladies invest the pensions."

While the three started sweating blood and quietly promising God anything He wanted to make it stop, Stephen turned to Chloe, forgetting them again. "How's the proofreading coming?"

Chloe, who was practically licking her lips at this point, played along. "Well I don't know who invented the word 'Unpossible', but I'm almost done."

"Splendid." Stephen looked back at the three, as if only just noticing their existence again. "Your other choice is this: You can put the word out that selling worthless stocks and factories for prices far above their value was your idea, and I am very pleased with your ingenuity. You get an anecdote to tell your pals, and when or if you ever get thrown out, you've got a new talent to put in your resume. Those who want to do that go back to work right now, and those of you that want to take your chances with Fisk can have your resignations on Chloe's desk within thirty minutes. If you're in the latter group, make sure and write your signatures in capital letters, because I'm already starting to forget your names."

Long silence. The three didn't look at him, each other, or even Chloe.

"Your thirty minutes started thirty seconds ago," Stephen told them.

The three couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

"Idiots," Stephen hissed. Then he turned to Chloe. "The ones that don't resign, which should be all of them, should get a big fruit basket and a sugary sweet thank you note, just big enough for their staff to think that they did something really clever and ingenious for me."

"Yes, sir," Chloe responded.

"After that, go see Miss Anna Jeffries, your predecessor, and get a crash course in everything. You have one day to do so."

"O.K."

"Now, to keep this job, under no circumstances are you to become a yes-man yourself just to get a pay raise. If you do well, you'll get one soon enough, and if you screw up, consider that a preview of what will be in store for you."

"Check." She started to go, then turned back. "Oh, and one more thing? This isn't a come on or anything, but that just now? That was the single hottest thing I've ever seen a man do."

Stephen smiled slightly. "You should see me rehearse those speeches in the shower."

Chloe gave him a Cheshire cat smile and left.

Stephen rubbed his eyes. Life was so much easier when he could just shoot his enemies dead.

Scene Break 

An older man with silvery hair was sitting down to lunch in an Italian restaurant when a younger man came over to see him. "Are you Silvermain?" the younger man asked.

"Who wants to know?" Silvermain responded easily.

"I do." He took out a photo and checked the face on it, then the man sitting before him. "Close enough for jazz." He promptly drew a gun and shot the man dead.

Scene Break 

"So it's done?" Fisk asked. "Good. You have your next assignment."

Spencer came into the office as Fisk hung up the phone. "It's ready."

"Good," Fisk said calmly. "Launch it as soon as nightfall hits."

Spencer left the room, preparing to launch the Black Widow.

Scene Break 

Mary Jane was watching the news, still showing endless details about Fisk, when Peter came into the room in his repaired spider-suit, heading for the window.

"You're not going back out?" MJ demanded.

"I have to," Peter said, pulling on his mask. "My powers are back, and I feel fine."

"Connors said that they can't be trusted."

"Until Stephen gets back into the game, we need to keep up the fight. My powers faded once, for less than three minutes. They didn't switch off, they faded. I can get to safety in time if it happens again."

Just then, the newscaster interrupted herself. "This just in, there has been a massive disturbance in Times Square. Reports are conflicting on what's causing it, and while there are significant reports of damage, there is no word on casualties yet. We're trying to get a camera on the scene now, but there has been an effective communications blackout for about eight blocks in every direction surrounding the Square…"

Spiderman looked at MJ.

MJ sighed. "I can't stop you?"

"Nope."

"Be careful."

As Spiderman leaped out her window and swung away, MJ grabbed up her phone and dialed.

Scene Break 

Stephen was staring at the TV watching the horror unfold just in time for the early evening news when the phone on his desk rang. Chloe hadn't gotten back from her lesson from Jeffries yet, so he was forced to answer it. "Stephen Cranston's office."

"Have you been watching this?" MJ's anxious voice asked.

"Yes."

"Listen, I know you're not ready to come back, but Peter's getting into this and I'm not sure that his powers are…"

Stephen hung up on her. As much as he hated doing it, he had no choice. To get back involved in this in his current state of mind would be worse than anything. He'd be even less helpful than even Peter with his unsteady powers were. Which, he had to admit, was awfully damned depressing.

Scene Break 

When Spiderman reached Times Square, he pounced on the edge of a building and took stock of the situation. He saw many people running, and plenty of fires blazing along the street. But near as he could figure, the fires weren't actually threatening people, so he tried to keep his eyes out for what it was that was actually doing the threatening…

And then his spider-sense hit the top of its scale, leaving little doubt that at least one aspect of his powers were working just fine, thank you very much.

He sprang away as a low roar like a small jet engine approached from behind and a ruby red beam of power turned the ledge where he'd been sitting into so much rubble.

Somersaulting, Spiderman caught the edge of a building, flipped himself backwards, and reversed his swing, giving him a short, fast arc over the top of one of Times Square's skyscrapers. Then he got a good look at what had attacked him…and nearly fell off his perch.

It was twenty feet tall, hovering over the centre of Times Square predatorily. It was made from polished steel, and glared down at him with red inhuman eyes.

But that wasn't what made Spiderman jump.

It was shaped like a huge Black Widow spider.

_Lovely. Black Widow females eat male spiders. Just the way I wanted to spend my afternoon._ "This town ain't big enough for the two of us," Spiderman snarled, with a cocky swagger that he didn't really feel, and eased into a combat crouch on the rooftop, letting the neon glare wash weirdly over them both.

The Widow's steel mandibles clicked menacingly.

"Now I'm hardly one to talk," Spiderman continued, "but there's already a Spider in this town, and I'm far more cute and lovable than you, so why don't you go find your own town to-"

VWWWAPP!

The mandibles fired out another red beam of lethal fire down at him. Spiderman leaped clear, flipped, and came down on its back. "Yeeee-HAW! Ride 'em, cowboy!"

The Black Widow folded its legs double on itself and its jets blazed, sending them both flying up about fifty feet. They came to a sudden jarring halt back on the ground, but Spiderman kept his grip, gathered his strength, and brought a crushing two fisted slam down on the back of the Widow's neck joint.

The metal didn't even give.

_Ow. Ow. Ow._ Well, at least his bones didn't break, even if that meant the Widow hadn't, either. Spidey started scanning for a weakness, desperately hoping there was one.

A hatch opened on the Widow's back and a mounted gun poked out, swivelled to point at Spidey, and fired another electrical blast at him, nailing him straight in the chest.

Spiderman screamed in sudden agony, and for a brief moment he was convinced he felt his heart stop momentarily from the shock. Pushing through it, he grabbed the barrel of the gun, squeezed it hard enough to crumple it shut, and tore it free completely as he jumped off the mechanical beast. He caught his balance on the edge of a neon sign and fired webbing over the Widow's mandibles.

The Widow responded by firing a pair of missiles from its belly.

Spiderman leapt off the sign as the missiles spiralled into the sign and turned it into a hail of sparks and fiery debris.

Spiderman fired a web onto the edge of a building and took a gigantic swing, finally landing a two-footed kick square into the Widow's side.

Jets of flame fired out of the beast's belly and burned through the webbing.

Spiderman fired a web shot to sling away from the Widow, who was now landing on a rooftop and turning to face him once more.

Spidey leaped to the wall of that building and started scrambling upward

The mandibles moved again, gave a click, and fired a jet of liquid down the wall.

Spiderman heard a hissing and smelled something foul and acrid. He looked up and saw the entire wall melting as the stream of liquid made its way toward him. _Acid. Joy, rapture. Haven't fought an acid monster in a few weeks. I miss the good old days of tangling with insane Mongols, for some reason._ He sprang away…

…and then fell ungracefully onto his shoulder on the ground below. _Next time, stupid, look before you leap, like Aunt May always said. _"Oh, sure," Spiderman snarked to the Widow as he got back to his feet painfully, "You've got your unbreakable armor, your laser guns, your rocket launchers, your acid sprays, but are you _happy_?" He picked up a long piece of rebar and threw it javelin-like into the face of the rapidly swooping monster.

The sharp hunk of metal slammed into the Widow's face with a metallic screech, barely causing a scratch.

Spiderman fired a webline and leapt back into the fray, when a wave of vertigo came over him. _Oh NO, not NOW!_ he begged silently, then tried to find a place to hide until his powers returned.

The Black Widow saw an opening and fired its engines, flying at a 45 degree angle, swooping up, flying straight into the webline itself, pulling Spiderman horribly off course until he was trapped under the thing.

Spiderman closed his eyes, expecting to be roasted by the jet flame any second, when he heard another hatch open above him, and a steel net fired out, with weighted corners.

Frantically, he let go of his webline, fully aware that the landing would probably kill him but deciding it was probably better than whatever the Widow had in store for him.

The net was faster than he was, however, and it caught him up and hooked itself closed as the Widow swooped away with her prize trapped inside.

Scene Break 

MJ gasped as the TV screen showed her beloved being swept away and dialed Stephen's office number frantically.

"Mr. Cranston's office," an unfamiliar female voice answered.

"This is Mary Jane Watson," MJ said, trying to stay calm. "I'm a…partner of Mr. Cranston's, and I need to speak to him _now._"

"Hold, please."

MJ tried not to swear at the phone as she heard the muzak playing in her ear.

Scene Break 

Chloe was hoping she'd pushed the right buttons to put the caller on hold and hadn't just hung up on her new boss' "partner" or whatever she was. She vaguely recognized the name--the Emma Rose perfume girl on all those billboards around town--and wondered if maybe this was the boss' girlfriend or something. She started to dial Stephen's intercom…

…and then swore she heard his voice calling out to her to tell the caller he wasn't in.

She shrugged off the strange feeling, figured Stephen just wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody, and retrieved the call off hold. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cranston stepped out. Can I take a message?"

Scene Break 

MJ fought the urge to strangle something or someone. "Tell him to watch out for spiders," she grumbled, then hung up. She then started dialing again. "He's still not talking," she told the person who answered. "Peter's in trouble. Follow the giant spider."

Scene Break 

Chloe looked at the phone questioningly when MJ hung up in her ear. "Somebody needs a hug," she muttered, then clicked on her computerized "While-You-Were-Out" phone message template and entered MJ's message onto it, then sent it to Stephen.

Scene Break 

Stephen Cranston watched the battle between the giant spider and the human spider on television, then turned the TV off as the mechanical spider flew away. Part of him raged inside his brain to go help his best friend. Part of him reminded himself that giant spiders were out of The Shadow's league. And part of him wanted nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion and forget this whole day had ever happened.

And the worst of it all was that he wasn't sure which part was right. Which was all the more depressing.

He crossed himself and said a prayer for Peter's safety, clicked to delete the phone message from MJ that had just entered his computer's in-box, then returned to the stack of papers on his desk.

Scene Break 

The Black Widow flew over New York for several minutes, with lights off, nearly invisible against the dark night sky, until it came down in the Industrial zone of New York.

Spiderman struggled briefly against the steel net, but had to give up. His powers were gone completely, and he was getting dizzy from the height. _Great. So this is how a dolphin feels in a tuna net, I guess. Next time I go out, I'll look for the "dolphin-safe" seal on my tuna meals from now on. If I get out of this, that is._

Finally, the Black Widow headed for a landing on a rooftop.

Spiderman looked down at the roof below him and watched it retract to open into a large warehouse.

The Widow lowered itself inside, released the tether on its net, and dropped its quarry to the steel floor.

_Ow. Ow. Ow._ Well, at least some semblence of his resistance to injury still seemed to be intact. Judging by how much that landing had hurt, though, he wasn't counting on it lasting much longer. He gave a look around the room.

The place was a jury-rigged facility of some kind with cables and pipes running everywhere. It all had some kind of weird orderly mess, probably some form of lab or makeshift manufacturing facility, he realized. _Well, guess you have to have someplace to put together giant spiders these days._

"Good work, Smythe." crowed a voice that Spiderman recognized all too well.

Spiderman rolled over and looked at the fat blowhard standing next to a young man in a wheelchair. "Howdy, Kingpin," he forced himself to wisecrack. "Been a while. Would have thought you'd have lost weight by now. Prison food's supposed to be good for that sort of thing."

Kingpin gave an annoying smirk. "I'm sure it would have been, but alas, I no longer have the chance to try it out. I cannot stay. I wasn't here, I didn't see any of this, but it's good to see you again too."

An older man was standing at the side of the room, near a large computer screen, and numerous controls. The screen showed the Black Widow's field of vision. "Enough Fisk. There he is, give me the hover-chair and get out of my life."

Kingpin shook his head. "We had a deal, Spencer. One dead Spider; one hover chair. I've had him as a prisoner too. He has this annoying habit of scurrying out of trouble, and if he doesn't, his partner will soon show up and make all of our lives miserable."

Spidey was pretty sure _that_ wasn't going to happen, but he could always hope. Better not to let on that there wasn't likely to be either scurrying or shadowy help this time.

Kingpin sneered down at his quarry. "Kill him."

"Dad," Alistair called. "You don't have to…"

Spencer sighed. "No. I have to, Alistair." He went over to the computers and tapped in a few commands.

The Black Widow came to life, swivelled, and fired a blast from its mandibles, straight into Spiderman's belly, sending him and the tangled net bundle clear across the warehouse floor where he crashed to a dead stop against the far wall.

The Black Widow started to march across to check on the motionless body.

_Ow. Ow. Ow._ And then Spiderman suddenly realized what the pain meant. _That blast should have killed me…but I'm still here…maybe I have just enough left in me to get out of this…_

He pulled against the netting holding him prisoner…and it shredded like tissue paper as he felt his strength beginning to surge.

Realizing he had to capitalize on this return of powers while he still had them, he sprang into the air and flew across the room toward Fisk.

The Widow fired again at its target and missed, raining flaming debris around the room that ignited everything.

Another net spun by its weighted edges across the room at Spiderman, who had to break off his attack to dodge.

Fisk retreated from the flames to the door, Alistair followed quickly. Spencer moved to follow.

"Where are you going?" Fisk demanded sharply. "We had a deal!"

Spencer growled angrily and returned to the computer, ignoring the rising flame.

Spiderman fired a web that wrapped around the Widow's front legs, then snatched up a large torn electrical cable, jamming it into the Widow's neck joint.

The wire's strong current took an instant liking to the steel body and sparks fluttered over the Widow's form as the gigantic spider came to a halt.

Spencer gulped in horror as the readouts on his screen went chaotic. "Purge… reboot…," he typed frantically.

The Widow's circuits fired up and the beast started moving again.

Scene Break 

Spiderman's web swings cleared the burning room to the cold night outside, where he spotted a familiar cab screeching to a halt. _Will wonders never cease,_ he sarcastically told himself as he pounced onto the cab's roof. "'bout time you got here," he replied.

Moe stuck his head out the window. "Are you O.K.?"

Spidey looked inside the back seat of the cab and was annoyed to find it empty. "Where is he?" he demanded.

"Not coming." Moe answered.

Spidey fought back a nasty retort, then felt his spider-sense surging. He looked behind him.

The Black Widow smashed out of the flaming warehouse.

"Go! Wait for me at the construction site at the end of the next street!" Spiderman ordered.

The cab took off, and Spiderman sprinted the other way. _Warehouse territory. Not a lot of things to swing from, so I've got to take the sky from him too._ Spiderman quickly turned the nearest corner.

The Black Widow marched at a rapid clip, the six legs making its movements fluid and fast. It reached the corner, and found that its quarry had vanished. It moved forward cautiously, scanning carefully.

Underneath the beast, Spiderman lifted the manhole cover, climbed silently out of the sewer beneath The Black Widow, and quietly reached a hand into the jet turbines, sticking his spare web cartridges into the jets.

Then, just as quietly, he scurried out behind the machine and promptly webbed its rear legs together.

The machine realized almost instantly where Spiderman was and spun around, snapping the webs instantly, but Spiderman was already running at his full spider-speed down the street where Moe would be waiting.

The Black Widow fired its jets to lift off after them.

The jet flame took all of three seconds to ignite the web cartridges, which exploded the pressurized web fluid into the jet turbines, effectively wrecking the jets completely.

The Black Widow fell the four feet to the ground hard, cracked the pavement, and began pursuing Spiderman on foot.

Scene Break 

Spencer Smythe was getting desperate; the flames were intense and getting closer. "Come on, come on!" He urged the remote controlled robot onward.

Scene Break 

Moe's cab was waiting at the edge of the construction site, as Spiderman came running up, gesturing for Shrevvy to get out of the car. Moe did so, and Spiderman grabbed him and leaped clear over the fence, into the site.

"Get into the crane!" Spiderman shouted, and the two of them parted ways.

Moe headed for the crane's control booth and began using his long-honed skills to hotwire the motor to life.

Spiderman headed for the cement powder, snatching up as many bags as he could, tossing them into the empty foundation hole dug for the new site.

It took several more seconds for the Black Widow to make it to the construction site and storm through the fence. It found Spiderman instantly, and fired a blast at him that barely missed him…but shredded the water main, sending a geyser of water hight into the air.

Spiderman tossed the remaining bags of cement in arms into the foundation hole, then whistled shrilly for the Black Widow. "Hey, gruesome! Nice hardware! But it don't mean a thing if you ain't got that swing!"

The Widow charged forward toward him.

Spiderman shot out a webline into the top of the crane and swung down to the crane's hook.

Widow fired again and missed. It located Spiderman once more…

…just as Spiderman ran underneath the huge mechanical menace, hook and cable in hand, came out the other side, and hooked the middle leg as hard as he could. Flipping over backwards to avoid another blast, he webbed down the hook as hard as he could. "NOW!"

Hearing the signal in the crane's control booth, Moe worked the controls frantically, and the machine pulled powerfully on the cable, yanking the huge Machine off its legs and swinging it over.

The Black Widow fired a blast up at the crane's arm, severing the cables, dropping it into the foundation.

"And…he shoots…he scores!" Moe shouted.

Struggling to get clear of the crane wreckage, The Black Widow tried to fire it's useless jets again, and then tried to climb, its movements being gummed up and stymied by the cement at it's feet, becoming true cement with the water from the busted main spraying down. Still, it kept moving and trying to climb.

Spiderman scrambled into the cab of the nearest truck he could find, slammed the steering column with his Spider-enhanced strength, ripped away the broken cover, and turned the ignition underneath with his fingers. The truck roared to life and Spidey floored it, driving straight for the hole.

Scene Break 

Spencer watched in horror on the display as he saw a huge construction truck appear over the edge, and drop into the hole toward the camera as Spiderman leaped clear of the cab. For a fraction of a second the crashing truck filled the camera's vision, and then the screen went black.

"SIGNAL LOST," reported the display.

"DAMN!" Spencer screamed, and suddenly realized the inferno he was surrounded by.

The master designer screamed in horror as the building caved in on him.

Scene Break 

Spiderman was breathing hard as Moe clambered down to join him. "Nice job," he told the cabbie.

"Thanks," answered Moe. "My first homicidal robot."

"Yeah. Might not be the last if the designer survived. Want a ride back to the cab?"

"Uh…sure…"

And the next thing Moe knew, he was soaring through the air as Spiderman grabbed him around the waist and leapt the fence. "Whoa."

"That's my line," Spiderman cracked.

Moe got himself together again and unlocked the cab. "Do you know who it was?" he asked as he climbed into the front seat.

Spiderman got into the back seat and practically sprawled out across the seat in exhaustion as he pulled his mask off below window level. "Fisk said his name was Spencer Smythe."

Scene Break 

"Spencer Smythe." Sarah reported as she read the information on her laptop. "Taught applied robotics at MIT. Lost his wife to cancer, his son Alistair was injured in an industrial accident during one of his field lectures at an automated factory. Apparently one of the robots he designed failed and his son was crippled. Smythe resigned from MIT to care for his son's rehabilitation, dropped out of sight ever since."

Peter looked at the photograph of Alistair demonstrating one of his production line robots. "That's him, no doubt about it. Did he know his dad was working as Kingpin's assistant?"

"No idea, but it links them together. The Black Widow must have been Spencer Smythe's design. Kingpin would be able to get it built without anybody noticing. He's been away long enough for the manufacture, so I suppose he doesn't have to worry about being caught with it now. If he doesn't have his prints on it, then it can't be linked to him once it starts blowing stuff up."

"What I can't understand is why Fisk would chance it," Peter wondered.

"He hates you," Sarah said bluntly. "Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. He's got his hands full and he knows I'm out of the way for now." Peter said. "He-OW!"

"Sorry," MJ apologized as she kept taping up the bruises on Peter's torso.

Peter sighed. "Fisk made his public return only this week, he's too smart to begin such expensive and public attacks. He should be busy getting control of the underworld back."

"So, I guess you haven't heard," Sarah noted.

"Heard what?"

Sarah tapped some keys on her keyboard and pulled up one of the local news web pages. "Silvermane was killed tonight."

"What? Silvermane? Drug boss out of the Bronx?"

"Looks like it."

"Did Fisk order it?"

"No idea. The story doesn't say."

"Like it actually would. Do we think Fisk ordered it?"

"Oh yeah," Sarah nodded.

"O.K., so Fisk vanishes for a while, using Spencer Smythe's design to construct the machine while he's gone. When it's ready, he makes his return, he gives the Justice department info on other crooks in New York, and gives them something strong enough to let him off the hook. He blames death threats from me and The Shadow to justify his long stay out of the country, then has the crime lords he rats on executed before they can be arrested and questioned." Peter started threading bits together, not sure he believed this wild mess but figuring that it made as much sense as anything else. "Then he buys Cranston Industry's stocks when the price falls after Victor dies, he sells them again to buy factories from Stephen, and real estate from Oscorp's collapse. He starts making whatever with the factories, he buys stock in the Bugle, restores it and brings it's circulation back up, he's got a PR voice. His competition in the underworld is largely eliminated, his legit competition is largely gone, and for some reason he decides to build a huge robotic monster to kill me while all this is happening."

"That part doesn't make sense," MJ interrupted.

"That's the _only_ part?" Sarah wisecracked.

MJ threw a roll of surgical tape at Sarah. "Shut up. First of all, the Justice Department wouldn't believe info that Fisk hands them personally, not after this long, and Fisk wouldn't want to take on Spiderman himself yet, since he's essentially charged Spiderman with attempted murder already."

"What are we missing?" Peter wondered.

Peter looked at MJ. MJ looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at Peter.

"Maybe we should call Stephen and let him hang up on us again, huh?" MJ quipped, and headed into the next room to put the first aid away.

Sarah made sure she was out of the room and leaned closer to Peter, speaking quietly. "By the way, the other matter you asked me to look into?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder at the door MJ went through and nodded. "Yeah?"

"I found him."

Peter was surprised. "That fast? How?"

Sarah looked modest. "Wasn't that hard actually. I knew he'd left town, so I started checking airports, found out he'd gone to Europe. After that it was just a matter of searching websites for every exclusive club, every snobby restaurant. A lot of those places like to put their client list on their websites to show off. Harry Osborn's bankrupt, but he's still a recognisable name."

"Where is he?"

"He went back to school. Oxford. Apparently he's living in their dorms, spent the last of his trust fund getting in the door."

Peter gaped. "Oxford? I had to practically carry him through high school science and math, what's he doing at Oxford?"

"Science classes, chemistry and aeronautics mainly." Sarah told him.

Peter could almost hear the Green Goblin laughing at him. "Really?"

Sarah saw the look on his face, knew what he was thinking. Oscorp made its money off chemical and defence contracts, could be he's just trying to get his head around it in preparation for a comeback."

"Only if my luck changes." Peter sighed fatally. "Who wants to lay odds?"

Peter didn't let slip that the conversation had shifted at all. "What did Fisk give the DOJ that got him off the hook for his own charges?" he asked Sarah.

"No idea," Sarah sighed. "Press are being refused entry to this one. All I know is, that a witness has come forward. A freelance journalist."

"Do you know who?"

She checked her research on Fisk. "You ready for this? It's Eddie Brock."

Peter couldn't believe it. "Brock? What the hell could he know abo…" He snapped his fingers. "That's it! That's the connection!"

Scene Break 

Stephen sat in his office drink in hand, and the lights off. Hopefully Peter had managed to survive that beast sent to kill him. It wasn't like Stephen was in a position to do anything about it anyway. He couldn't even face the remaining stack of papers on his desk. It might be better if he just went away from everything for a very long time, but with his luck it would just make things worse…

There was a light knock at his door. "Boss?"

Stephen didn't look toward her. "Yes, Chloe?"

"Someone named Sarah on line one. I tried telling her you weren't here, but she didn't believe me…"

"I'll take it, thanks." Stephen sighed and picked up the phone. "What?"

"Listen, you don't want to come back, that's your choice," Sarah's annoyed voice told him. "But don't pretend for a second that you haven't been paying attention."

"He seems to be doing fine without me," Stephen said quietly.

"Just barely. We're all hanging on by our fingernails out here, and you're not exactly offering us a hand."

"I'm busy," Stephen said, mindful of Chloe still waiting at his doorway. "And this is not the time to be discussing this."

"When _is_ going to be the time?" Sarah snapped back. "I think you're scared. You were all bent out of shape about Peter giving up _his_ mission a while back, but we're all expected to just sit back and let you cower in your ivory tower and drown your sorrows in all that expensive booze?"

"Don't go there," Stephen warned.

"If Peter went into this on his own a month ago, I'd have to tie you to a chair to keep you out of it. Victor retired years ago--are you really so desperate to simply have him there as a safety net that with him gone you don't dare set out on the tightrope anymore?"

Stephen tensed with fury. "That's not fair!"

"Life's not fair, you idiot! You left us alone on this one, in the middle of the biggest reshuffle the cops and robbers game has seen in over a year, and I've been defending you to your partner, your driver, and your inner circle for a week now, and I'm tired of it. We needed you, and you hid in your office! Wake up, Stephen, the world is marching on with or without you, and you can't just keep sulking like Achilles in his tent because you don't have Victor to hold your hand anymore!"

Stephen slammed down the phone angrily.

"Wow," Chloe observed. "Next time I'll just hang up on her."

Stephen fumed for a moment, then dashed down the remainder of his drink.

"Want to talk about it?" Chloe pushed.

"I'm not in a talking mood," Stephen noted. "And it's not nice to eavesdrop."

Chloe smirked. "Yeah, like you've never done any such thing. I've heard stories about you."

"Only believe about half of them," Stephen admitted, smiling slightly at his supposed reputation preceding him. "You're here late."

"I'm your personal assistant. According to Jeffries, I don't get to go home till you do."

Now Stephen was smiling genuinely. "I give it a week before you get sick of that rule. Go home."

"No."

Stephen looked up. "No?"

"No. Not unless you come with me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this forward, Ms. Bryant?"

"Listen, I've fended off two chicks on the phone so far today, so I know you're not short on girlfriends, so I'm not even going to try to make a play there. But I know a bunch of places where you can forget about life for a while. If you must brood then you can at least buy me drinks while you do. I promise, by the time you get home you won't even remember what you were angry about. "

"I've got a long memory."

"Yeah, but you also have a lot of money to buy drinks."

Stephen considered that. "Good point." He fetched his suitcoat off the coat tree near the door and followed Chloe out of the office.

Scene Break 

J. Jonah Jameson was sitting pensively in his office, reading Sarah Branson's story in the late edition of the New York _Post_. There was nothing there to link the SpiderSlayer to Fisk, nor that matter, anything that linked Fisk to anything. For some reason that didn't comfort him as much as he'd hoped it would.

"Not what you were hoping for?"

Jameson spun around to find Spiderman hanging upside down outside his window.

Leaping out of his seat, he bolted for the door to his office, when a web snapped around his ankle and yanked him clean up off his feet, till he was hanging upside-down eye to upside down eye with Spiderman. "Kill me if you want, but you'll never get away with it!" Jameson hollered. "You'll be charged with Breaking and Entering, first degree Murder, terrorism, theft, assault with a deadly we-"

"Shut up," Spiderman snapped and promptly shot a web over Jameson's mouth. "I don't get it, Jameson. I know you hate me. But you know Fisk is dirty. So why'd you let him off the hook?"

Jameson glared.

"That's a real mean look there, J.J., but I've been toe-to-toe with a nasty mechanical spider tonight and I am _not_ in the mood for your bull. Come on, J.J., there's no evidence that clears him. Not real evidence anyway, and Fisk knew that any fake stuff would never be believed coming from him, so why'd you get Brock to deliver it for him? Fisk didn't buy that much stock. What was in it for you?"

Jameson let out a series of muffled epithets.

"Watch your language," Spiderman taunted, then obligingly pulled the web away from his mouth.

Jameson worked his jaw and started talking. "Fisk was dirty, but he had power. I knew the charges against him would stick, but they wouldn't be enough. That guy has judges, cops, senators in his pocket. With Cranston dead and Osborn gone, he would get back on top eventually, and the charges wouldn't be enough to convict. They get proof he's guilty later, and they can't do anything with it once he's cleared of the charges."

"So… you get Brock to deliver his fake evidence, so that he'll never be charged, so that you can investigate on your own and charge him later when you've found the smoking gun."

"Right." Jameson said. "It has to be done the right time the first time." He threw Spiderman a withering look. "It's a legal thing, something you wouldn't understand."

"Double jeopardy, where scores can really change." Spiderman quipped. "You can't be charged with the same crime twice." He thought for a moment. "So explain the Robot."

"Spencer Smythe was looking for money. I don't know why, something to do with his son. Fisk was looking for a way to kill you."

"So you told Fisk you'd put him in touch with a guy who knew how to squish me if he'd give your precious tabloid a lot of money."

"You screwed that royal when you turned on Fisk last year."

"Turned on Fisk?"

"Oh, please," Jameson spat. "A high profile menace like you would have to be working for the Kingpin."

"Are you kidding me?" Spiderman exploded.

"Fisk got wise to you, didn't he? He tried to put your lights out before you did it to him. Looks like you beat him to it and he had to flee the country. You also got a public relations machine to make you look good, so that you could make the _Bugle_ broke, and nobody would care when you came to kill me."

"I'm not here to kill you," Spiderman snarled. "I just want to know why you talked Smythe into building Fisk his machine."

"Because Fisk was still going to keep up his end of the deal. He knew that a massive flow of cash from him to the_ Bugle _would implicate me, so I had to get him cleared before it got out." An ugly look came over Jameson's face. "It was worth it though. Now I can start work on bringing Fisk to justice, and I have the cash to bring you in too!"

Spiderman spun another web over Jameson's mouth, then fastened the web holding the arrogant editor upside down to the ceiling and sprang away, leaving Jameson to shout muffled curses after him.

Scene Break 

"Silvermaine is the just the latest," the newscaster said. "Cicero Black and Hammerhead were confirmed dead this morning. All of them victim to gangland-style gunshot wounds to the head. Police have made no official comment, except to say that they were considering all options, and following several promising leads. With thirteen suspected gang leaders and crime lords now dead, the question on everyone's mind, is of course, who is running the show in New York's underworld now?"

Fisk switched off the television and smiled easily.

Scene Break 

Sarah paced around the parlor in Cranston Manor and checked the mantle clock ninth time in as many minutes. It was past three A.M. "Where is he?" she muttered to herself.

"It is not uncommon for Master Cranston to be out this late, Miss Branson." Andrew said, making her jump.

"Only if he's out thrashing bad guys," Sarah remarked hopefully.

"If that were the case, then perhaps your call had the desired effect."

Sarah shook her head. "I lost my temper, Andrew. I've been telling every single person that knows the whole truth not to give him grief, and then I turn around and call him a coward."

Just then came the sound of somebody trying to open the front door, followed by hysterical giggling.

Sarah looked confused.

Andrew gave a shrug and opened the door.

Stephen fell through the doorway, a woman hanging off his shoulder. Both of them were clearly plastered, evidenced by their drunken laughter at their stumble.

"Andrew!" Stephen slurred joyfully. He looked at the woman hanging off her shoulder. "Told you it was the right place. This is Andrew."

"What a great name!" The woman said. "I love the name Andi!"

"Andrew." Stephen corrected.

"Andrew," the woman corrected herself. "Whatever. Hello-w Chloe, I'm Andrew…no, wait, that isn't right. Anyway, I'll be staying here tonight."

Andrew digested this, and then looked to Stephen for confirmation.

"It's not what you think Andrew," he said with a helpless grin on his face. "It's just that neither of us could remember where she lived."

Chloe found this hilarious and suddenly noticed Sarah looking at her disapprovingly. "Is this one of your girlfriends?"

Stephen noticed her too. "Sarah! Hey. I was really mad at you for something, but I can't remember what…hey! It worked!" He looked at Chloe. "You were right!"

"Told ya!" Then, Chloe yawned. "I'm drunk and I'm beat." She put her arm in Andrew's. "Come on Lurch, show me to my room."

Andrew led her upstairs, leaving Sarah with Stephen.

Stephen stumbled toward the parlor. "What're you doing here?" he asked her.

"You're drunk," Sarah snapped in disgust.

"I should hope so, or else I've done nothing but waste a lot of perfectly good scotch," he said with a laugh that sounded vaguely shadowy.

"Is that where you've been for the last two hours?" Sarah demanded angrily. "Out getting drunk with that…that…"

Stephen collapsed into a chair. "Oh, honestly, between you and Andrew, who needs a wife or mother?"

She couldn't believe his immaturity. "I've been waiting here, worried sick…"

Stephen's eyes seemed to focus, and he narrowed them at her. "Oh, really? Why? Worried that I might do something stupid, now that I don't have anybody here to play safety net?"

Sarah didn't answer.

"What? Nothing to say for once? You've been calling me all day, and now you can't find anything to say?" He laughed once more, sounding even more shadowy.

"I'm leaving." She turned to go.

Suddenly, the parlor door slammed itself shut. She turned around to face Stephen. "You're not drunk," she realized.

"I was," he said. "Funny thing, though…when I want to, I can sober up practically instantly." He glared at her. "You've been giving orders to my staff, my agents, and my butler. You've been speaking for me to all the others, and then you turn around and blasted me, called me a sulking something. You think I need _you_ to hold my hand now? You think I'm just busy being a coward, while the world goes marching on, so you come over here to play Victor?" The anger in his eyes was palpable. "Well screw you! You have no idea what I have been going through. You have _no_ idea how I have fought with myself about all of this. You have _no_ idea how hard it was not to go out there tonight! You have _no_ idea how I was hoping I had one person on my side who would understand that I needed to grieve in my own way and who would be with me when I came out the other side of my grief…What was it you said? Someone who didn't care about image or reputation? Someone who wouldn't care how it made me look? Only you didn't want to be that person. You wanted to be _Victor_. And you _can't_. So right now…you need to leave until you can be that person I need again."

With that, the door to the parlor opened again.

Sarah looked sad. "I… I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Not if you're going to be someone you're not again," Stephen warned.

Sarah fought back tears as she turned and walked out of the manor quietly.

Stephen collapsed onto the sofa, leaned back, and closed his eyes. _This day could not possibly end too soon,_ he decided as he drifted off to sleep.

Scene Break 

"Come on, Doc, my powers came back, and I feel great," Spiderman promised and did a quick climb up onto the ceiling to prove his point. "Give me the O.K. and I'll be out of your hair forever."

Connors was looking carefully into his microscope. "I don't know. Have you been subjected to any high energy electrical fields lately?"

Spiderman remembered the shock from Black Widow's electrical gun. "Yeah."

"Well, it looks like the shock gave the cells a kick, and the ties between the DNA chains are reconnecting themselves."

"That's what I wanted to happen," Spiderman pointed out. "The genetic bonds are keeping my powers active. Yay, me."

"Don't be too excited about this," Connors persisted. "The reason your powers were fading were because it was metabolising through your system like a virus."

Spiderman noticed his tone and dropped down to the floor to look him evenly. "What do you mean?"

"The DNA chains are reconnecting themselves…which means you've started changing again."

Spiderman didn't like the sound of that. "Into what?"

"I don't know. But I do know this: It won't be human."

Scene Break 

Alistair looked at the smoking ruin of the factory from across the street. Somewhere in there was his father.

"A tragic loss." commented a voice.

Alistair looked over his shoulder, and found Fisk watching him from the shadows.

"You could have saved him," Alistair accused.

"Yes, but it was not I that got him killed. I merely demanded he carry out our bargain. Given the circumstances, I see no reason to punish you just because Spiderman survived."

"What do you mean?"

"The hoverchair that your father wanted is completed. A newly acquired factory belonging to Fisk industries has completed construction."

Alistair wasn't fooled. "What else?"

"You have your father's skills, Alistair." Fisk explained. "You were running security and surveillance for me years ago, but now I have a new assignment for you. One that will allow you to avenge your father. Are you interested?"

Alistair thought about it. "Yeah. I'm interested."

THE END


End file.
